The Xavier Fanfiction Institute
by Michelle Solo
Summary: Chapter Edit and Author's Note Only! XFI, a Fanfiction University for the mutant world, is now open for instruction. The marvelous mutants (both good and bad) will teach writers the proper way of mutant fanfiction... or go insane trying.
1. Regarding Fanfic, Indeed

The Xavier Fanfiction Institute for Soon-to-Be Gifted Authors

By Michelle Solo

Disclaimer the First: I don't own the X-Men, comic or otherwise, but sorely wish I did. The comic incarnations of the X-Men belong to Marvel and were created by the minds of Stan Lee and Jack Kirby. The movie incarnations of the X-Men belong to 20th Century Fox and were morphed to fit the silver screen by Bryan Singer, Tom DeSanto, David Hayter and company. 

Disclaimer the Second: Official Fanfiction Universities weren't my idea either. That credit definitely goes to Camilla Sandman, who gave me the a-ok to write this crazy thing. My many, many thanks to her. Many.

Author's Note: If you want to enrol at XFI (the more, the merrier, I say) just fill out the handy application located within this chapter and e-mail it to yours truly using the address on my Bio page.   
  
*****

Ah, the reviews. Erin's favorite part about writing fanfiction was the seemingly endless praise she got for her work. Sure, she'd tried different fandoms in the past and received a fair amount of critical acclaim, but none before it had struck fiction gold like this. 

Erin found her current writing niche in the ever-expanding world of X-Men movieverse fanfiction. Her original mutant character Angelica "Angel" Kensington, the young girl from a rich family who mysteriously sprouted feather wings from her back, had struck a chord with her fellow movieverse writers.

Erin had never really read any of the comic books or watched either of the cartoon shows (she might have seen one or two episodes of the original animated series with her brother as a kid) but she'd seen both movies enough to get a feel for the characters and their cause before adding her own spice to the mix. 

Let's see... Junk, junk, more junk, junk again-

Here we go. 

This subject looked promising.

From: "Katherine Pryde" shadowkitty@x-school.edu

To: "Erin Dawson" angelicwritergal@hotmail.com

Subject: Regarding Fanfic

What Erin found inside the e-mail was not at all what she had expected. 

Not at all. 

Dear Ms. Dawson, 

We here at the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters have become aware of your presence and cordially invite you to attend our campus (located at 1407 Graymalkin Lane, Salem Center, Westchester County, New York). 

No, don't be alarmed, you're not a mutant (although some of you are under the impression that you, in fact, are).

You see, it has come to our attention that so-called "fanfiction" has begun appearing on the internet not only about our kind, but of this school and particular mutants residing in this mansion. We are also aware that not all of this fiction has been, to put it lightly, properly written.

We the X-Men, as many of you know us, have grabbed the proverbial bull by the horns on said subject. Henceforth, any author seeking to write "fanfiction" about previously aforementioned X-Men, or topics pertaining to, must obtain what we have christened an Xavier Fanfiction License. 

Believe you me, I have a powerful way of influencing those who don't willingly cooperate. Whether you come here on your own volition or by other means of persuasion is entirely up to you.

I, Charles Francis Xavier, founder of the X-Men and Headmaster of the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, have allowed my residence to be open for educational purposes relating to the subject of fanfiction.

Instruction at the Xavier Fanfiction Institute for Soon-to-Be Gifted Authors commence five days from the date posted at the head of this e-mail. All students are required to report to school grounds four days in advance for Orientation and preparation for the school year ahead. 

Please fill out the questionnaire attached which holds all required information for registering at XFI and forward the completed document to iceman_cometh63@x-school.edu or subzero@ubercoolninja.com (I haven't the heart or willpower to read his mind to find out why, but from what I gather it has to do with a video game of some sort). 

We are looking forward to your arrival. May your stay at XFI be an enjoyable one.

Mutatis Mutandis,

Professor Charles Francis Xavier

P.S. It is not recommended that this message be deleted until you have registered completely. You really don't want to know what will happen to your beloved computer if you do. 

Don't say I didn't warn you. ;) 

With love and Pryde,

Kitty

If jaws could detach themselves, Erin's definitely would have. 

An e-mail from Professor X... Was this for real? Yes, it certainly looked real and yes, there really was an attachment, but was she absolutely sure that this wasn't a product of her twisted imagination? For a brief moment, she considered deleting the message and forgetting all about it.

But Kitty's warning was boring a hole into her brain. 

Out of curiosity, and fear of what would happen if she outright ignored the e-mail, she clicked on the attachment link and a new window opened on her computer screen. It was the questionnaire (an application, by the looks of it) Xavier told her about.

The form went as follows:

"The Xavier Fanfiction Institute for Soon-to-Be Gifted Authors" Student Enrollment Application 

Name:

Codename (if applicable): 

Age: 

Gender: 

Species: Human/Mutant/Other (please specify)

If Mutant, please specify power:

Alignment (all species): X-Men/Brotherhood of Mutants/Other (please specify)

Favorite Resident of the X-Mansion: Professor Xavier/ Cyclops/ Jean Grey/ Storm/ Wolverine/ Rogue/ Iceman/ Nightcrawler/ Other (please specify)

Favorite Brotherhood Member: Magneto/ Mystique/ Sabretooth/ Toad/ Pyro

Preferred 'Ship: 

Character Which I Desire Most: 

Have You Created an Original Character?: Yes/No

Have You Ever Written Slash?: Yes/No

Why Do You Write/Want to Write X-Men Movieverse Fanfiction?: 

Exposure to the X-Universe (leave all that apply)(please specify the canon which you are *most* familiar with): Comic Books/ X-Men: The Animated Series/ X-Men: Evolution/ Movies

The application went on to state that "any injuries sustained at XFI are entirely the fault of the student, not the staff. The faculty are only there to help you and if it means Education Through Pain, so be it. You are the ones who want to write X-Men fanfiction; we here at XFI never forced you to."

Once Erin had completed the form to its fullest extent, she sent it off to whoever it goes to (she chose the latter address, even though she was pretty sure both were the same person).

By the time all that was said and done, Erin decided that she was far too bewildered to do much more on the computer and quickly logged off. 

A nap. That's what she needed: a nice, healthy nap. Maybe she could sleep this away and find that it was all a crazed dream induced by bad pizza and a caffeine overdose. 

Yeah, a nap... 

Far too late did she realize that it was the last thing she should have done. 


	2. Making Fun of a Cyclops

Chapter Two: Making Fun of a Cyclops

*****

The mixed stench of sulfur and brimstone is not an aroma someone should wake up to. Erin Dawson learned this lesson first hand.

A demonic blue face covered in ritualistic carvings and a piercing set of yellow eyes is not a sight someone should wake up to. Erin Dawson also learned this lesson first hand. 

"AAAAHHHH!" 

The demon man seemed not to be phased at all by the redhead's ear-piercing scream. In fact, he seemed rather used to it. 

"Don't think you're the only one who's screamed like that, liebchen."

Liebchen? That's German, right? 

"Wh-where am I?"

"Currently?" he asked, rather casually. "Currently you're aboard the X-Jet, picking up the last of the students before heading back to the school."

X-Jet? Students? School? The extreme amount of tired she was feeling was not helping anything make any sense. 

But the midnight blue tinted German looked awfully familiar.

Wait. Something was clicking...

There was something about an e-mail. An odd one, she remembered faintly. There had been something in that e-mail about a school, a Fanfiction School. If only she could remember who it was from... 

Why was the letter X flashing in her mind? Probably because that same letter of the alphabet was everywhere she looked; on the walls and on the blue German demon-elf-thing's clothing and-

Oh.

She was on the X-Jet. 

Which means... 

"You're Nightcrawler!"

Kurt Wagner, the previously aforementioned Nightcrawler, grinned a sharp toothy grin. "Faster than some, slower than others." 

More and more from the incident with the e-mail (she didn't know what time it was so she couldn't give an exact measure as to how many hours had gone by since she fell asleep, but she could see out a window that dawn was currently breaking) poured back into her mind. There was an e-mail from Charles Xavier, THE Charles Xavier, about her, Erin Dawson, attending his school for fanfiction. Erin had been in an insane enough mind to actually fill out the application and then, stupidly, sent it to a kid who thought Sub Zero from Mortal Kombat was an uber cool ninja.

And now she was in the sick bay of the X-Jet chatting it up with an overgrown teleporting Smurf. 

"Hey, um... Kurt?"

"Ja?"

"I'm not exactly sure I want to know the answer, but how exactly did my clothes and I get here?" 

"Uh, yeah, that would be me." Behind Kurt appeared a girl, no older than fourteen, seemingly out of thin air. She was a tiny thing, but that's because puberty hadn't quite hit her quite so hard yet. "The clothes part, anyway." She offered a friendly hand to a disheveled Erin. "Name's Kitty Pryde. I would be the one who packed your clothes and other... necessary items. The elf here was the one who actually brought you on board." 

Kitty. Erin recognized her name from the e-mail. She hadn't expected the girl who threatened the well-being of her computer to be so young and nonthreatening. 

"And before you ask how I did it," Kitty said, obviously having had this conversation before, "I have the ability to become intangible."

"Intangi-what?"

"Intangible," Kitty repeated. "Like so." Kitty's hand, which was once solid, phased through Erin's as though the older girl's was nothing more than air. 

Erin, whether it was from the shock of the actual touch or just plain shock, promptly passed out. 

*****

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Scott Summers said, adjusting the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. He tended to do that when he was nervous.

"I don't know, Scott," Jean Grey (back from the depths of Alkali Lake by the incredible power of fiction) said, "I think it's a great idea."

Scott huffed. "Oh, sure, that's because the fanwriters don't hate you. You'll be hard-pressed to find someone out there who doesn't think I have a... a..."

"Stick up your ass?" Logan offered.

"Rod up your rear?" Jubilee suggested.

"Shaft up your backside?" John submitted. 

"Staff up your-"

"I GET IT!" 

"Hey, man," John said, clicking his lighter to an inaudible beat, "you started it."

The collective staff of XFI, canonical characters and not, were all gathered in the head office of Charles Xavier. Kurt, Kitty and Ororo, however, were not present, as they were currently 30,000 feet in the air somewhere over Ohio. The X-Men and the students who had volunteered to be XFI faculty were congregated around their leader and mentor while Magneto and his Brotherhood of (Evil) Mutants sat in the corner of the room as far away from Xavier as possible. Stryker, meanwhile, was tied up in the corner with an unconscious Lady Deathstrike at his side (the adamantium removal process had been quite trying on the poor dear).

Additional characters, such as those who had been only featured as cameos (or less) and not directly associated with the school, likewise assembled around the desk of Xavier.

Standing behind Xavier's wheelchair was a tall skinny brunette whose demeanor implied that she carried some kind of power around these parts. To her right stood another female who was just slightly shorter, sporting sun-bleached brown hair, a shirt that stated "The Truth is Out There" and, Bobby frightfully noted, nunchucku. 

"You know, Scott, not all of them hate you," Xavier pointed out. "It's just that most of them think you're..."

"A jerk?" Rogue interjected.

"A prick?" Bobby proposed.

"Anal-retentive?" Magneto put forth.

"A-?"

"STOP THAT!" Scott sighed with repressed anger. "I'm tired of people making assumptions about my character just because I appear to be a bit..." Siryn had opened her mouth to finish Scott's sentence. "Don't you dare!" Theresa Rourke's mouth snapped shut.

"I believe you have stumbled upon one of the reasons Miss Solo and I have decided to open a school of the fanfiction persuasion." The Professor gestured to the non-weapon wielding brunette behind him. "Michelle, if you will."

"Gladly, Chuck." Michelle pat Xavier once on the shoulder and took a place at his side. "All of you are here for a single purpose: to educate fanfiction authors about who and what you are and of the world around you."

"Even if it kills us?"

"Yes, Jubilee, even if it kills you."

"Why?"

Jubilation Lee had stumbled onto the age old question. "Why?" Why was the sky blue? Why was the grass green? Why did Toad smell so bad? (Actually, the latter question could be answered with a simple "he never showers," but it was still a question to be asked nonetheless.) 

"So that they'll write better fanfiction."

"Why?"

It seemed Bobby Drake also learned the use of the word. "So I'll sleep better at night knowing I've done my civil duty to not only the X-Men universe and its denizens but to the English language as well."

This statement caused a stir amongst the mutants (and one non-mutant, but they all seemed to ignore him). For the most part, an Institute of the Fanfiction Kind was acceptable and the reason for it just as satisfactory. 

"I've got nothing better to do," muttered Jean. "Since I'm technically dead and all..."

"I'm game," Logan said. "If another one of those little harpies gives me *another* kid, they're gonna regret it."

"Do I get to fry things? I hope I get to fry things."

"As long as nobody calls me a prick..."

Michelle Solo, Course Coordinator for the Xavier Fanfiction Institute for Soon-to-be Gifted Authors, couldn't help but grin. Things, it seemed, were going to turn out just fine... As fine as it can get at an OFU, anyway.


	3. Arrivals and Terribly Ironic Existences

Chapter Three: Arrivals and Terribly Ironic Existences

*****

You know that pain you get in your ears when a plane is descending and you haven't been yawning or chewing gum? That "my brain is leaking out my ears" type of ache? Everyone aboard the X-Jet (save the canon characters, who had become immune to its affects by now) felt that same pain. Erin, who had been unconscious for the majority of the return trip, was spared from this brain-leaking pain... That is, until she woke up.

It didn't help she had hit the floor upon awakening.

"Ow, bloody ow, ow and OW!" Erin's sentiments were reflected throughout the plane by the other passengers. Not even covering her head with a pillow from the medical bay was ebbing the throbbing agony. 

"Gum?" Erin lifted the pillow off of her head to see someone standing over her holding out a stick of Wrigley's Extra (cinnamon, if you must know). 

"Uh... sure." She gladly took the stick of gum, unwrapped it, and popped it in her mouth. Several moments later, the pressure slowly but surely alleviated. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," the girl replied, taking a seat on the floor next to Erin. "I'm Adrian."

"Erin." Erin's eyes led her around the room, taking in all the sights to be had. And, quite frankly, they were really weird. "Okay, you seem like you've been more conscious than me. What's going on?"

Adrian, who bore a striking resemblance to Kitty (if the mutant were a few years older and few inches taller), laughed. "You remember that e-mail you got from Professor Xavier?" Erin nodded. "So do I. You and I and everybody on the plane headed towards the same place: the Xavier mansion. Apparently Xavier himself turned the school from a mutant training grounds to an OFU."

"OFU?"

"Official Fanfiction University. What?" Adrian asked, playing off the muddled look on Erin's face. "You've never heard of an OFU?" 

Obviously not. 

"It's a school where characters from a certain fandom, in our case the X-Men and the Brotherhood and such, teach fanfiction writers such as you and myself to write their fandom properly, usually with lots of pain." Erin gulped, not liking that last bit. "An OFU tends to emerge when a fandom has become so plagued with crimes to fanfiction that no other choice is to be had. Looks like the movieverse has been hit pretty hard for something like this to happen."

"How do you know so much about... stuff?"

Adrian held up a piece of paper, which looked like a certificate or license of some kind. "I survive-... I mean, I went to HFA."

"HFA?"

"Boy, you sure do ask a lot of questions. HFA: Hogwarts Fanfiction Academy. An OFU of the Harry Potter genre. Turns out that the Course Coordinator of this place went there too. Had a bit of a Remus Lupin obsession to get over from what I gather."

"That explains that, I guess." Erin gestured to the other people, fanwriters she guessed, on the plane. "What about them? Why do they look so...?"

"Different?" Adrian interposed. "That's because they're mutants."

"But I thought this was a school for fanfiction writers," said Erin. "They're allowing mutants in, too?"

"Remember on your application when they asked you 'species?'" Erin did. Being extremely tired and not all that creative at the moment, she had put Human. "Funny thing about OFUs. When they ask you species, you really do become what you say you are. Majority of the writers put mutant and got the power they claimed they had. wOLF over there put Vulcan on hers and, voila, she got pointy ears, a strange haircut and a huge brain."

"How would Xavier know what a Vulcan-?" Star Trek trivia penetrated her brain. "Never mind." 

Darkness enveloped the cabin, signaling the end of their flight and their entrance into the docking bay.

*****

"Mini-whats?" 

"Mini-Sentinels, Hank." Michelle was kneeling in front of what appeared to be a three-foot tall robot. She patted it on its chrome-plated head. "They're really kind of cute once you get past the irony."

Dr. Henry McCoy (Beast to a few, Hank to some and a guy who had the same name as a Star Trek character to the rest) lifted the miniaturized robot from the ground and placed it on an examination table. "And might I perchance inquire as to why their existence is so ironic?"

Michelle rose from the ground and turned to look at the mutant scientist. Hank was in his original human state because that was what complied with on-screen Canon (as established by Bryan Singer, Vice Headmaster of XFI). Michelle understood that not many people would recognize him in this form. Many of the students, she knew, would only be able to identify Beast in his more familiar guise of body-encasing blue fur. Which, she came to realize, might not be a bad thing after all.

"In all the other 'verses, Sentinels are mutant-hunting robots built by a human supremacist nut called Trask."

"Mutant-hunting robots spawned from the misspellings of the names of mutants?" Hank's eyebrows knit in brief thought. "Ironic, indeed. What do they call this one?"

"Rouge: the most common misspelling of them all," Michelle announced, shining a spot on the mini's crimson-colored head with her shirt sleeve. 

Hank spent the next few moments investigating the machinery. "Are they still programmed to hunt mutants?"

"Oh God, no," the course coordinator said, aghast. "That part of their programming has been completely wiped from their memory. It's been replaced by an even more appropriate and, I think, hilarious function."

"That being?" 

"Hunting fangirls." This made Hank break into a fit of laughter. "Their secondary function is to protect their namesakes."

The Beast wiped a tear that had formed in his left eye. "And where, pray tell, is Rouge's?"

And not a moment too soon, Rouge's namesake entered the room, breathless. "Storm just landed the X-Jet." Hearing it called "X-Jet" instead of its more commonplace comic book name made Michelle briefly wince. "The last of 'em are here."

If a dramatic chord was nearby, it would have played. 

"Thanks, Rogue. I'll be down in a second." Michelle took the Mini-Sentinel from Hank's examination table and placed it in front of its originator. "Rouge, meet Rogue. Rogue, this is Rouge; your very own Mini-Sentinel."

The Southerner crouched to eye level with the minute robot. "Hi there, Rouge." 

Hank, Michelle and Rogue listened as a series of whirs and clicks emanated from the Mini-Sentinel's circuitry. By the sound of it, Rouge was coming online. 

"Hunts fangirls, eh?" The mutant doctor confirmed Rogue's guess with a nod. "You and Ah are gonna have some good times together, lil' fella," Rogue declared, grabbing the tiny robot by its metallic hand and led it out the door. 

"Like a mother and her slightly homicidal, fangirl-hunting robot child." 

Hank McCoy had to agree.

*****

Author's Note: First off, I'd like to thank all those who have enrolled... I didn't expect so many in such a short amount of time! You will all get your day in the sun, I promise! And for those who haven't enrolled yet, it's never too late. 

A/N 2.0: Secondly, seeing as I am only one person and can't read every X-Men fanfic put out there, I'm going to need your help. If you see yourself a Mini-Sentinel (such as Rouge, my biggest pet peeve) let me know about it. Even if you *think* it's a M-S, send it in a review. 


	4. How Many Jamies Does It Take to Confuse ...

A/N: My thanks to Diana the Burninator, who helped find me a plentiful amount of Mini-Sentinels. You'll get your mention here (as well as the rest of you who enrolled). And don't worry, I won't give you enormous ears... but that doesn't mean I won't do something just as weird.

*****

Chapter Four: How Many Jamies Does It Take To Confuse a Fanwriter?

*****

Erin and Adrian, along with the rest of the fanwriting flock, were amassed upon the basketball court overtop the X-Jet's landing/take off deck. Michelle had soon come to realize that there was no way all those bodies could fit in the docking bay and had the assemblage moved topside, with a little help from Magneto. 

(Erik Lehnsherr's magnetic gift had proven useful in lifting the entire ramp, sans the jet, and catapulting the students into a heap on the concrete and/or the lawn. Those who had managed to survive and stay in the bay were met with a very direct "All right then, stay down there. But just pray you don't have *too* much iron in your blood." They immediately found their way to the court.)

From what Erin could tell, the crowd consisted of three main Factions: 

Faction #1: The die-hard comic book fans, who were just dying to meet the characters and check the layout of the place (There was something about a room of danger, but Erin paid it no mind). Adrian, being a member of this group, called herself a "comic bookie."

Faction #2: The movieversers, whose only real exposure to the X-Universe was the two movies, made up another group. Their ignorance, as it was, to other canons only helped to fuel their imagination in creating original characters. Erin belonged to this clique of writers.

Faction #3: The fangirls, who took up more than half of the populace on the court. This group tended to breed from all canons, all walks of life. 

"We've been waiting nearly a half an hour," mumbled Sethoz, playing with some nearby rocks (which was her power, you see, to control sand and stone). "I wanna see Pyro." Camilia concurred. 

"Kurt looks even cuter in person... um... elf," Settiai told anybody who was listening.

"If I see Bobby, he's mine," Marina proclaimed.

Upon hearing this, Adrian snickered. "Oh, man... Fangirls. I suppose there's a horde for every major genre. If there's anything these girls want more than to see their lust objects, it's to get a hold of their lust objects."

"Do you think they could?" 

"If this OFU is like any of the others, no. There's a better chance of Stryker giving up his anti-mutant crusade and bursting into a rendition of 'What a Feeling.'" 

"But he's dead."

"Exactly."

Good morning, XFI students.

The voice, unmistakably Professor Xavier's, came out of nowhere. Many of the students searched for the owner of the disembodied voice but to no avail. A convenient thing, telepathy is. He could project to the entire student body, staff and an unfortunate stranger who happened by the school on their morning jog without having to leave the comforts of his study.

I trust you all had a pleasant flight.

Echo, who had unfortunately discovered her newfound allergy to the combined stench of sulfur and brimstone (which was slightly ironic as she lusted after Nightcrawler) and suffered the whole duration of the flight, groaned and sneezed for the billionth time.

I'm sure you're all just anxious to begin the school year, so if you'll direct your attention to the water fountain, you'll soon be on your way.

The gathering of students focused on the water fountain, hoping it would be one of the X-Men or, at the very least, one of the cuter members of the Brotherhood. To everyone's surprise, it was neither. Standing on the angelic-centerpiece fountain was a boy. A plain, average-looking, run-of-the-mill teenage boy. Not a soul there recognized him, not even the comic bookies. 

Noticing he had the collective attention, he cleared his throat. "Hi!" He looked down at the clipboard he held in his right hand. "Let's see... A-through-F, follow me; G-through-M, follow me; N-through-S, follow me; and T-through-Z, follow me." He looked up at the masses. "Any questions?"

By Erin's count, about seventy-nine hands went into the air. The boy on the fountain (who was either schizophrenic or an idiot, probably both) picked out one of them. 

"WHAT?!" a voice cried out. 

"There's only one of you!" another yelled. 

"You should have just said 'A-through-Z, follow me'!" 

The boy looked nervously around the fountain as if looking for something or someone. He sighed heavily. "Good-for-nothing copies. They always disappear just when you need them the most."

Adrian let out a barely audible "Ooh." She, unlike Erin, had figured out who the boy was.

So did some of the Evolutioners (a cartoon-based offshoot of Faction #1). 

"IT'S JAMIE!" 

Jamie Madrox, a demure farm boy who was not quite used to having his name shrieked in such a manner, lost his balance on the edge of the stone fountain and stumbled backwards into the water with a wet THUD, sending his clipboard flying comically into the air. When Jamie regained composure, he was not alone. Where there was once one Jamie there was now four... sorry, five. The airborne clipboard crashed into original Jamie's skull. 

All the members of Faction #2 joined in a mixed "Who the hell is he?!/How did he do that?!"

All the members of Faction #1 and the Evolutioners cried "MULTIPLE (MAN)!"

All the clones of Jamie plugged their ears from the shouting. 

Original Jamie fetched his drenched clipboard from the fountain and turned to face the crowd once more. "Ahem... As I was saying..."

"You weren't in the movies!" a girl in the crowd interrupted. Erin could hear Adrian sigh in what was either annoyance or frustration. Probably both. Erin reflected the shouting girl's sentiments but judging by the look in Adrian's eyes, she didn't want to die just yet.

Jamie went deathly silent. "Care to repeat that?" His copies were looking rather bloodthirsty. One of them was even cracking his knuckles.

"I said that you weren't in the movies!"

Five sets of glares met the girl in the audience. "I thought that's what you said. Apparently, you didn't notice the name 'Madrox, James' on Stryker's computer or read the Chris Claremont novelization-- a fine piece of literature, might I add." The girl had nothing to respond with but a perplexed look. "Or you don't know who I am, that's fine too. Won't hold that against you... yet." Grinning, he returned to the clipboard in his hand. His clones mirrored his sly smirk. 

"As I was saying..."

***** 

Well, that had certainly been a peculiar educational experience. 

Turns out that Jamie kid not only clones himself upon physical impact but can also designate a specific emotion (to its extreme) to each of said copies. Group "A-through-F" had gotten assigned to "Sexually Frustrated Jamie," who had proceeded to lead the girl population of his assigned group into his dorm room before getting caught by Logan (who threatened to solve his sexual "problem" in disturbingly creative ways. He quickly faded, as all his clones do, and was replaced with another less perverse clone).

Erin and the rest of the first quarter of the alphabet sat, bored out of their minds, in what appeared to be an elaborate hallway outside one of the many studies this place seemed to have. Adrian had been called into the nearest door quite a while ago and Erin hadn't seen her since.

"What do you suppose goes on in there?" Erin asked whomever in the room was actually listening. 

"Probably a torture chamber of some kind," ventured Echo. "A Danger Room for fanfic writers."

Danger Room? Torture chamber? Whatever kind of room that was it didn't sound very user-friendly. Erin made a mental note to proceed with caution if she ever happened to stumble upon it.

The wood-paneled door slowly, almost conspicuously, opened. From her angle, all Erin could see was a wall and a strangely placed machine of some kind. An unfamiliar voice rang out.

"Erin Dawson." The voice didn't sound at all sinister but from what she'd learned in the past hour about OFUs and Danger Rooms, she'd become suspicious of anything that looked or sounded friendly. 

Erin stood up from her chair to answer the summons. As she made her way to the open door, Echo held up crossed fingers for good luck. Good luck for who, Erin didn't know, but she figured it was still good luck.

The door squeaked shut behind Erin as she stepped into the ominous room.


	5. The Numerous Guises of Robert Drake

Chapter Five: The Numerous Guises of Robert Drake

*****

SMACK!

A snowball hit Erin dead in the face, shocking her senses into being.

"You looked tired," said the man at the desk, justifying his actions. He gestured to the chair in front of him. "Have a seat."

Erin wiped the snowy remnants from her cheeks and took the offered seat. It didn't take long for her eyes to recover from the shock and come into focus. This guy, though he had just proved himself a man of ice, certainly didn't look like the Bobby she had come to know from the silver screen. This guy, a dark brunet clad in light blue sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt, looked almost... cartoonish. 

"You're not Iceman."

Mock surprise lit up the eyes hidden behind translucent shades. "I'm NOT?" He crossed his arms and put his sandaled feet on the desk, focusing his eyes on the ceiling. "Huh. Then what have I been doing these past thirteen years?" When Bobby (it can't be him, Erin kept telling herself) realized the girl in the room wasn't going to answer his question, he took his eyes off the ceiling and stared across the desk. "You don't believe I'm Bobby Drake, do you?"

Erin honestly shook her head. 

Bobby nodded sagely. "I see." Then without warning, he chucked a snowball at the mechanical box sitting by the entryway. "Stupid machine!" 

The machine couldn't have been bigger than a shoebox, but that obviously wasn't the bulk of it. A plug connected the box to the doorframe and at the top of the door shone a giant television screen flashing the words "COMICVERSE: CURRENT." Upon icy impact the screen went blank and Bobby began twitching and shaking involuntarily.

"Excuse me a moment." Iceman lurched forward in his chair until Erin could no longer see him. Just as she was going to stand up and check to see if he wasn't having an epileptic seizure, he jerked backward hard enough to make his chair shake.

Erin was flabbergasted. No more unfamiliarity; no more not knowing who she was supposed to be looking at. This was Bobby Drake as she knew him: a teenage male, with blonde wavy hair standing on end and an adorable face to boot. Yes, he was still wearing a Hawaiian shirt, but the sunglasses had disappeared. No wonder Rogue went for this guy. She was starting to wish she had put Bobby on the "Character Most Desired" question of her application instead of John.

Although that Jamie kid was kind of cute...

"Sorry about that," he apologized, attempting, in vain, to smooth his wild hair closer to his scalp. "Now, let's get down to business." Bobby turned his chair toward the computer to his left and began to type frantically. "Erin Dawson, is it?"

Right about here is when Reality, in all its disturbing glory, hit Erin like a battering ram to the gut. "Wha-... Buh... Huh?"

Bobby stopped and looked at the fanwriter across the desk. "Come again?" 

"What the... But how... Huh?" There. That sounded slightly more comprehensible.

The teen who called himself Iceman pointed to the screen above the door. It now contained the words "MOVIEVERSE." Once he was sure she got that message, Bobby gestured to the mechanical box on the floor. "That's a Trans-Universal Image Modifier, or TIM for short. When a fanwriter like you walks through that doorway TIM's *supposed* to scan your mind to see which X-Universe you've been most subjected to." Bobby sent the box a death glare. "The last person who was in here imagined me as a laid-back-yet-slightly-tense twenty-eight year old with a penchant for Hawaiian shirts and a gaping icy hole in my chest." He grabbed the material of his shirt. "There are still some kinks to work out."

"Obviously," murmured Erin. A sense of comfort washed over her as she became more knowledgeable about the current situation. "Who built it?"

Bobby went back to his computer, reading the file that had come up on screen. "Michelle suckered Forge from Evo-Verse into building it for us."

"Why?"

"Dunno," replied Bobby, eyes still melded onto the monitor. "False sense of security, I guess. The calm before the storm. Michelle's weird like that."

"Who's Michelle?"

"Michelle Solo, the course coordinator. She and Xavier put this whole place together. A funny person, albeit a little insane. You'll meet her soon." A few moments later Bobby finished and leaned back in his chair, much like his predecessor. "Angel Kensington, eh?"

Erin flushed crimson. He had been reading one of her fanfics! "Do you, um, like it?"

"That's not for me to decide," Bobby admitted. "But it's not the worst I've read and I'm only on letter D. At least you have a grasp on what makes us characters tick, even if the characterization's a little off. It's also looking like you need an explanation of some of the mutant powers. I don't just 'shoot ice out of my hands,' you know." Bobby pointed to a line on the screen that matched his quote. 

"But I thought that's what you did," Erin confessed. The crimson on her cheeks were probably a blood red by now.

"It's a bit more complicated than that," he explained nonchalantly. "And what's John doing here? I thought he left with Magneto before Jean died."

She had no answer to this. That sense of comfort Erin had a few minutes ago had transformed into a blanket of embarrassment. "I'm gonna die here, aren't I?"

"Of course not." Bobby chuckled. "Maimed, possibly, but not killed."

Erin gulped nervously. "You're kidding."

A lopsided grin played the corner of Bobby's mouth as he returned to the keyboard.

"I wish I was."

*****

XFI was becoming stranger by the minute, if the classes Erin was to take were any indication. While she made her way to the orientation ceremony, as per Bobby's directions and not-so-strict warning about not wandering off in other directions, she scanned the list of courses she needed to take in order to graduate. 

If she survived the next nine months, that is.

"'Foreign Languages and Accents. Instructors Kurt Wagner (German language and accent), Marie D'Ancanto and Samuel Guthrie (Southern accent) with an additional instructor TBA. Does this class really need a description?'" 

Erin hadn't denied that she needed a class like this. Her writing in this area was, to put it bluntly (and in Bobby's words), atrocious. 

"'Bad and Loving It: The Art of Villainy. Instructors Erik Magnus Lehnsherr, Raven Darkholme, St. John Allerdyce, and Colonel William Stryker. How to become evil, stay evil, do quite evil things and, most importantly, WRITE evil. 

(Additional note from Mr. Allerdyce: Yes, that's right, I'm evil. Bloody EVIL. Get used to it, mates. And yes, I'm aware my name's ST. John... don't ask. My mother was weird.)'" 

The whole "John in the same mansion as Kurt despite the fact that John was supposed to have gone turncoat by now" had earned Erin a seat in this class. 

"'Lesser Characters: Not Just in the Background Anymore. Primary instructors Katherine Pryde, Piotr Rasputin, Jubilation Lee and Theresa Rourke-Cassidy with a variety of secondary instructors. You remember all those sub-characters you see behind the main characters? Now they're here to show you that they're more than something minor.'"

Erin theorized that her entry into this class had something to do with the Jamie incident. She didn't exactly know *how,* but she was pretty sure that it did.

"'Physical Education. Instructors Logan and Missy, occasional help from members of the X-Men. This course is what it promises. Education that is physical; and physical hurts, people.'"

Forget what Bobby said. She was going to die here and that class was going to be it.

"'The Difference Between Telepathy and Telekinesis and Other Clarifications: A Guide to Mutant Powers. Instructors vary from session to session, depending on the topic of the day. In this course students will learn about a wide variety of powers that the mutant population has to offer, including explanations and demonstrations of said powers.'"

Hmm. Of all the classes she was required to take, this one actually sounded like it wasn't out to kill her. Unfortunately, she had this class after P.E.; she might not get a chance to live long enough to see this class for herself.

"'Familial Relations: Just Because Our Genes Are Mutated Doesn't Mean Our Family Trees Are, Too. Instructors Scott Summers and Erik Magnus Lehnsherr. Yes, folks, this may come as a shock, but not every X-Man and Brotherhood member has long-lost siblings or children with horrifically tragic pasts. This class will show you that and much, much more.'"

Okay, so Erin might have *accidentally* given Jean a younger telepathic sister in the process of developing her own character. But where in the movies did it counteract such a move? 

Finally finished with her verbal scan of courses, Erin looked up and abruptly realized that she was lost. By the looks of things, she was somewhere in the vicinity of the canonical students' dormitories. What was it that Bobby said about not wandering? "Don't if you value your sanity." Something along those lines.

Just ahead, Erin could hear two whispering voices. 

"They say he's in there," said voice one (belonging to a girl simply known as Kate).

"I can't believe that they actually *got* him," said voice two (Raven, the mutant student with the bird companion). 

"Got who?" asked Erin, at full volume voice. 

Like two deer caught in headlights, the girls froze.

Clunk.

"Who do they have?" 

"Shh!" 

Chink.

"What?" 

She never did get an answer. What she got, however, was a cloud of knock-out gas and the beginnings of hysterical laughter. 


	6. Greasy Headed Lackeys and Their Highly S...

Chapter Six: Greasy Headed Lackeys and Their Highly Sensitive Egos

*****

Jean Grey, the school's telekinetic doctor and woman who would be Phoenix, was altogether perplexed. 

"Three of them?"

"Three of them," John Allerdyce echoed. "All standing outside Toad's room, no less. Jon here took care of them." The mutant codenamed Pyro looked down at his Mini-Sentinel (trimmed with blue-and-orange flames) and grinned wickedly.

Dr. Grey's eyebrows knit into an intricate pattern. "Why Toad's room? Don't tell me he has lusters."

Pyro shuddered at the prospect. "Ugh, I hope not. They were after the *new* guy." 

"New...?" Jean tapped her forehead in understanding. "What about her?" The female mutant gestured to the dark redhead lying on the nearest infirmary table. "She put you as her desired character." 

John tucked his hands into his leather jacket. "Beats me. Probably got lost or something."

"And you knocked her out anyway?"

"Of course I did. I'm a villain now, remember?" 

"A lackey, John," Jean reminded him. "You're a lackey."

"Still evil by default," countered Pyro.

The doctor pat the teenage male on his pomade-doused head, then wiped the excess grease onto her lab coat. "Sure you are."

John scowled at Jean's patronization. "I have an evil laugh, you know."

"And it's lovely," complimented Jean. She checked her watch. "You'd better be getting to the lakeshore. It's almost time for the ceremony." 

"Ceremony, right," John said, turning to leave. "C'mon, Jon, let's get outta here." With several clinks, whirls and thuds, John's namesake followed him to the infirmary's door. "'And it's lovely,'" he mimicked under his breath. "Yeah, well, at least I'm not dead."

"Pick up a comic book sometime, Pyro," replied Jean coolly, focusing on her work of reviving the students. "So are you." As an afterthought, she added, "Besides, I made a much better villain. And *I* wasn't a lackey."

With her back turned, Jean couldn't tell whether the hissing noise she heard was the door shutting or angry steam escaping John's lips. 

*****

"Where's Jean, Allerdyce?" Scott asked the younger mutant with a tone of menace. 

John arrived on the makeshift stage in time to watch the students gather on the same quality bleachers a few hundred feet away. Behind the stage was Breakstone Lake, the mansion's own private body of water, and a boathouse that nobody used or cared to know what it was once used for.

"You mean Dr. 'I'm-Glad-They-Dropped-a-Lake-On-Me-Since-That-Was-the-Only-Way-I-Could-Get-Any-Character-Development?' She's gotta revive some students I caught wondering the halls." 

Magneto beamed with a fatherly pride. Scott looked on the brink of murder. William Stryker unexpectedly giggled.

"Speak for yourself, you racist monkey," Hank (who had been named official caretaker of all Mini-Sentinels and was quite crabby at the prospect) interjected. "Oh, wait, I forgot. You don't *believe* in evolution."

"A racist monkey, am I?" Stryker responded, glaring at the enormity of Hank's hands and feet. "Isn't that a wee bit like the pot calling the kettle black?"

"While I may possess the qualities of your average simian, Colonel, I am not, in fact, an unconscionable racist, as you so evidently are."

The occupants of the stage went silent.

Jubilee, in full form, broke that silence.

"Zing!" she cried. The Chinese-American girl turned to her once fire-wielding classmate. "What's with the grumpiness, Johnny? Did Jean insult your manliness or somethin'?"

John glowered in response. 

"I'll take that as a 'yes.'"

John's face turned seventeen interesting shades of red and purple.

"THAT BLOODY BINT CALLED ME A LACKEY!"

Bobby Drake, accompanied by his mini-Sentinel Dranke, almost made it to the top of the stairs on the left side of the platform. He would have attained this goal successfully if John's sudden outburst hadn't startled him so bad he tripped on the second to last step and smacked his head on the stage. Bobby recovered quickly (thanks to Rogue, her personal mini Rouge and Dranke) and pointed directly at Jubilee.

"Wow, Jubes, you must've really set him off," said Bobby, rubbing the blooming bruise on his cheek with his free hand. "You made him go into full Aussie mode. He only does that when he's *really* pissed."

"I'll show her who's evil," announced John, now with a thick, almost incomprehensible Australian accent. "I'll show 'em all."

"Ya've 'eard 'im talk like this before?" Theresa asked in her own Irish tongue. The Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters boasted a wide variety of nationalities and cultures amongst its student population: Russian, Irish, Scottish, Southern, Canadian, African... Okay. Nobody's *really* sure if Storm's African or not, but we're meant to think she is.

"Once." Bobby took a seat in between Rogue and Kitty (and their minis Rouge and Pride). "When Tina won Survivor: Australia. Up until then I had no idea what his obsession with that show was."

Pyro had an Idea. It made him grin. "Thank ya, Drake. The first thing I'm gonna do ta prove I'm truly evil is fry the bloody tribal council for thinkin' that annoyin' biddy was the real Survivah!"

"He had twenty bucks riding on Colby," Iceman whispered. 

"Then I'm gonna-"

"For the gods' sake, John, shut up," an irritated voice belonging to the course coordinator demanded. Nobody knew where she'd come from 

"But Jean said-"

"Shut up." 

"I-"

"Shut UP." Michelle looked around the stage. "Where's John's lighter?"

"I think Logan threw it into the lake about an hour ago," said Jamie. 

"You little fink," growled Logan. Jamie laughed nervously and shrank into his seat. Multiple Man, not being a well-known character in movieverse, didn't have any Mini-Sentinels to protect him from any imminent harm, but, thanks to his mutant gift, had an army of himself for protection. Not a single copy dared stand up to Logan. 

Michelle pinched the bridge of her nose. "Well, that explains his crabbiness." She looked at the cast on stage. One person was missing. "Anybody seen Jean?"

John reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small, palm-sized silver object. A lighter. Click. Chink.

"Ah, Hell," grumbled Wolverine. "He's got a spare?"

The smirk on John's face couldn't have stretched any more even if he was Reed Richards. "You mean Dr. I'm-Glad-Theyaaah!" 

This time, Scott jumped him.

*****

Erin Dawson had just had the strangest dream. It involved a school. There were teleporting blue demons and girls that walk through stuff and megalomaniac magnetic men and boys who could take on the U.S. Army by sheer number alone and a joker who throws snowballs at unsuspecting fanwriters. And knock-out gas. Definitely knock-out gas. 

Oh, wait. 

That wasn't a dream.

Damn.

Then walking with Jean, two robots, and two other fangirls across the mansion grounds *wasn't* just a figment of her imagination.

Right.

Her seat in the bleachers sucked. The least this school could do was give her a chance to *see* her favorite characters and she could barely get a glimpse of them on stage. They all looked like tiny ants milling about their anthill and...

Whoa.

Did that red-eyed ant just tackle the greasy haired ant? Was the clawed ant trying to grab something out of the greasy one's hand? The clawed ant looked successful in his mission and chucked something minuscule and silver into the crowd of students. 

The greasy ant was not happy about this ("Eek! Give it back!" could be heard faintly. No, that wasn't an Australian accent, was it?). 

The diminutive projectile smacked a student called Jakie Firecracker square in the forehead. 

The greasy ant seemed to cheer up.

Sabe Newbarrie, Loup and Kit divebombed towards the shiny object that had fallen in Jakie's lap shrieking, "MINE!" All three collided mid-air, landing on Eclipse (holding a plushy of a character Erin didn't recognize) and Random Girl (not just some random girl, mind you).

The greasy haired ant forgot all about whatever it was that was thrown in his state of laughter. Wow. That was quite an evil laugh he had there, even to Erin's ears. 

The movement in the crowd stopped due to the presence of a bald ant in a moving chair. When Xavier is around, folks, you had better be ready to listen. Or he'll make you.

*****

Author's Note: Thanks for all the support! I never could have dreamed that this tiny little fic that was born in my head could be such a hit with the crowds. 

I'd like to point out that even if you don't write movieverse-based fic, or you don't write X-Men fic at all and just want to learn, you're always welcome here at XFI. 

A/N 2.0: I'm going to try my hardest to get as many characters as movie canon will allow into XFI. Even if there was the tiniest, most minute reference to them in either movie (i.e. Jamie or Sam), you just might see them wander the campus. 

A/N 3.0: Yes, I know it's taking forever for me to get to actual classes (it's been one hell of a long day), but I promise that they'll be up and ready to tortu-... teach soon. 

TTFN!

~Michelle 


	7. Twas the Week Before Classes

A/N: Sorry for the delay, folks. Life, that pesky little bugger, found its way back to me and insists on staying. I promise chapter eight (and the first day of instruction) will be much, much better. 

Much. 

A/N 2.0 (12/19/03): This may come as a bit of a shock, but I'm still alive! I haven't exactly finished chapter eight yet but just to prove to you that I still care for this project, I edited this chapter (the sentence that didn't end was bugging me as I'm sure it was you) and changed a word or two within. 

Now that I'm on winter break, expect chapter eight up really soon... Maybe even before Christmas! 

*****

Chapter Seven: 'Twas the Week Before Classes

*****

"Your speech was marvelous, Professor."

"I agree. You had them glued to their seats... literally AND figuratively."

"I thought it was terrible."

The Professor's wheelchair ceased motion, causing Scott (who had been following close behind) to crash into his mentor's transportation and the rest of mutant faculty members to crash into him, creating a whole traffic jam in the hallway (mostly Jamie's doing; Peter, or Piotr, whichever you prefer, had been the one to hit him). 

Magneto, the one who had been the root of this mess, stood on the other end of the crowd from his one-time compatriot, seemingly unfazed by the mass in front of him. 

"All that talk of 'bringing together the fans of all forms of X-Men media in a positive, albeit sometimes painful, way' was just utter nonsense."

Professor Xavier sat quietly and thought. Now for those of you not all that familiar with the mannerisms of one Professor Charles Francis Xavier let me tell you why when a man of his caliber thinks, you should get the hell out of Dodge. Xavier possesses the greatest mind (barring Reed Richards, but his is more booksmarts and elasticism anyway) this planet has ever seen and he can use said mind in such a way so that all of your thought processes cease to be. 

And that's when he's not even trying.

"Erik," Xavier said calmly. "I understand you're bitter because Michelle refused to let you speak on behalf of your more, shall we say, antagonistic approach to teaching the students. Ripping a student's lungs out because they can't spell 'Magneto' right just isn't a good disciplinary tactic. They're good and honest people, Erik. I'll admit that not all of them will be the future Leo Tolstoys or Nathaniel Hawthornes but at the very least we can teach them something about what it is to live in our world and be able to walk away with an idea of who we are... without extracting their lungs."

"Charles," said Magneto, his tone mocking that of the Professor's. "I understand you're a pacifistic moron who can't see that these people are no more than common drooling idiots who lust after Wolverine's bulging biceps and John's troubled yet incredibly sexy good looks. You and I, Charles, are just minor characters who steal screen time from their beloved 'lust objects.' The only reason you and I exist in the world of fanfiction is so that I can be a big mean brute to John, have him run away from the Brotherhood and in the process find true love in the arms of some made-up character claiming to be his soul mate and you can send Wolverine on some godforsaken mission to the Swiss Alps or some nonsense like that to find his long-lost daughter. You say they don't deserve to have their internal organs torn from their measly chests because they're 'good and honest people.' Well, Charles, I call it 'fair play.' They've mutilated our characters for the sake of fun; why can't we maim them for the same reason?" 

If this wasn't Malcolm X versus Martin Luther King, Jr., nothing was. 

"Magnus." The Master of Magnetism had just turned to walk away when he stopped mid-stride and looked back over his shoulder. "Go jump off a cliff." 

So maybe nothing is Malcolm vs. Martin after all.

*****

The next four days of Orientation went without much event. 

Okay, it would've been without much event if John hadn't started playing "Which Hairspray Catches Fire the Fastest?" with members of the female student body. The winner and, as it turned out, the only contestant was Jessica, who had actually liked Pyro right up until the moment her hair became a bonfire. Iceman once again had to play the fire extinguisher to John's pyromania and, in the end, gained a fangirl for his heroics. This did not help repair the hole in their already damaged relationship. Going off with Magneto and basically abandoning Bobby and his life at the mansion isn't what you would exactly call a smart move.   
  
Hank McCoy's demeanor had soured over that four day period of preparation. But with 57 Mini-Sentinels in his keep and more coming each day, can you really blame him? 

"Oh my stars and garters!" proclaimed the doctor on the afternoon of the second day. One Sentinel, Exavyer, had appeared in the med-lab unexpectedly. It had tripped Hank mid-stride and now the good doctor was nursing a twisted ankle and a bruised forehead. "How DIFFICULT is it for people to consult a book, a comic- the internet! It's almost as if they use the internet for everything but research."

Rumor had it that Michelle was going to recruit yet another doctor/scientist to help poor Doc McCoy in his plight but not a soul at XFI could venture a guess as to who.

Logan had been seen sharpening his adamantium claws at dinner one night to an even finer point than they had been before. Next to him sat Missy, polishing her nunchucku and downing a plate of chicken at the same time. Both parties were preparing their "tools of instruction" for the Physical Education class. 

At breakfast on the morning of the fourth day, Michelle asked the head instructors for each class to turn in a course syllabus for their respective classes by that evening. What Michelle received on her desk that night was not would you would call "typical." It wasn't what you would call "sane," either. 

The class syllabus for the "Accents and Foreign Languages" was written in half-German, half-Southern slang. In Kurt and Rogue's defense, Michelle never had specified that the syllabus couldn't not be a Teutonic/Mississippian hybrid.

Jamie signed his name on the "Lesser Characters" course thirteen times. 

Scott had turned up a twenty-three page report, which felt more like a twenty-three page rant than an actual description of the course. Scott had not been too keen on being paired up with Magneto in the first place and spent ten pages expressing his dislike of the situation. Michelle was beginning to see why people thought he had a small country up his posterior. 

Logan hadn't even bothered with a course description. It was probably better off that way. 

Still, none of those were as bad as Magneto's syllabus for "Bad and Loving It":

ALL WILL BOW BEFORE MY MIGHT 

Respectfully submitted,

Erik Magnus Lehnsherr

One night before the school year was to begin, course coordinator Michelle Solo was beginning to have a really bad feeling about this.

*****

Bed. Sleep. Good. 

A good mantra, especially to those of the exhausted. Erin, as well as 98% of the student population, could be legally considered Those of the Exhausted. 

Dinner the previous night had become a struggle for survival for someone in their not-so-right mind had instigated a food fight. 

The lesson learned? Never start a food fight with crazy people. Especially crazy people with superhuman powers. (It had taken Erin two hours to clean the burnt mashed potatoes and frozen peas out of her hair.)

At least the beds were cozy.

When it came to the sleeping quarters, Professor Xavier had been rather generous. The rooms (which usually fit a minimum of two and a maximum of five) were well furnished; each got a four post bed, a dresser for their clothing and belongings, and a desk to do their "studies," whatever they happened to be. 

This place was beginning to look up, despite its rocky beginnings. With classes starting tomorrow, and being that close to the canon characters, this place might not be as bad as Erin thought it was.

And it was right about there that Erin's ears began to bleed.


End file.
